


Limited

by aliencereal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Lyrium, Magical Tattoos, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencereal/pseuds/aliencereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has a lyrium brand that keeps him from getting off.  Tabris doesn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limited

**Author's Note:**

> For this kink meme prompt:
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10371.html?thread=44937603#t44937603

The trouble starts with a playful smile and a feminine hand on Alistair's chest.

Okay, that's a lie.

The trouble starts when Alistair is fourteen, in the throes of puberty and out of his mind with how horny he is. He's seen at least six boys be punished with the brand, a swirl of lyrium just above the groin. And he knows what it _does_. They all do. The sisters have been preaching about it since they were nine.

Not a punishment but a tool, a way to control lust. That's what they _say_ , at least. Without a matching mark on a wife's hand, you'll never find release again. To make matters worse, he's heard the boys who have gotten it already whispering about it. The sisters talk as if it quiets desire; that's a blatant lie. It only robs you of your way to dampen that fire.

As guilty as Alistair feels about what he does to himself under the sheets, the idea of losing it is a nightmare.

A nightmare that becomes reality one night when one of the sisters does a surprise bed check and finds Alistair, in the bed closest to the door, with his hand down his sleeping pants. Getting the brand burns, but the shame burns brighter.

The _real_ trouble happens six years later, when he's a warden alongside a beautiful lady elf who is, bafflingly, sweet on him. That's when the warm laughter and the swaying hips and the soul-shaking kisses come into play. Alistair aches for Tabris in ways he barely understands. He wants to learn how she does her hair, to find every freckle on her body, to keep her warm on cold mornings.

But those are only the innocent things.

He wants to spread her open with his fingers and explore her with his lips and tongue. He wants to drown himself in her body, in it's sights and sounds and taste. He wants to push into her and understand what it is that his body has been begging and screaming for since puberty.

Alistair is 20, he is a grey warden, he is in love, and he is so, _so_ horny.

And that's where the playful smile and the feminine hand come into play. They stun Alistair more effectively than any mage's spell, and they're nothing on what comes next.

“I want you to take me to bed,” She whispers, standing on her tiptoes so she can get right up close to his ear.

He should tell her no. She'd been hinting at it for a while, and before he'd been completely sure that they were serious, he'd had reasons to give her if she ever asked. But that's exactly the problem. He _is_ completely sure that they're serious. He loves her, she loves him. He wants her, she evidentially wants him as well.

He blurts out a squeaky, awkward “Okay” before he can second guess the decision.

*

Alistair is rock hard before they've even reached Tabris' tent, and he's aching by the time she's secured the flap and pushed him down onto his back. He's embarrassed but the attempt to put a drought into his sex drive had only stopped up the river. He wants to break down that dam so badly.

Tabris seems to share the sentiment, although she doesn't know how bad the situation is. When a clumsily placed thigh brushes against his erection, she moans like a starving woman presented with delicious cakes. The noise Alistair makes is closer to a mouse being stepped on, but it doesn't turn Tabris off. Instead, she grinds her thigh against him, kissing messily at his neck.

“ _Fuck_ , you're gorgeous,” Tabris pants, tilting her head back enough to watch his face. Alistair opens his mouth to return the compliment but no words come out. The pleasure is mounting, too much too quickly. Alistair can feel the tension in his stomach and balls hitting unbearable, and he forgets about the brand. For a moment, he thinks he's about to come in his trousers.

And then the lyrium kicks in.

Alistair's eyes fly open as a wave of cold, prickly discomfort floods his entire body. The brand burns like fire below his navel, and Alistair whimpers, half in pain and half in pleasure, because Tabris hasn't _stopped_. Inside his gut, malaise and the pins-and-needles sensation of a foot fallen asleep mix, but externally, the pleasure just keeps coming.

He wants to tell her that it's useless, to tell her _anything_ , but he's quite literally writhing mindlessly on her bedroll. He can feel her fingers on the ties to his trousers, little brushes of overstimulated pleasure. He struggles to look as she tugs his small clothes down, and, sure enough, he's still hard. His dick is swollen and almost purple at the head, twitching with each painful heartbeat.

Tabris wraps a hand around him and Alistair's back bows as a thick, viscous drop of precome blossoms at the tip. He sobs brokenly around the stab of pleasure so intense that it makes his head spin. Distantly, he hears Tabris swear.

All he wants is to come. His whole body is trembling in a desperate reach for it, aiming for a biological imperative that he should have already hit. As she strokes him, he thrusts up into her hand, too far gone to understand how hopeless the effort is. The pressure is building again, impossibly so, as though pushing towards a second orgasm when the first has already been refused by the lyrium.

Tabris ducks her head and sucks his cock into her mouth. This time, when the pleasure tries to break, it turns into pain instead of sickly discomfort. Overstimulated, mindless with pleasure and abruptly in intense pain, Alistair screams.

And screams, and screams, and _screams_.

*

When Alistair comes to, he's still on his back in Tabris' tent. His cock is tender and achey, and he feels vaguely nauseated, but he's mostly just disoriented. He sits up, and finds himself naked in the company of both Tabris and _Wynne_. He yelps and tries to pull the blanket up over him, only to wince when the fabric feels impossibly rough against his abused privates.

Whimpering, he forces an eye open to look at the two women. Tabris' face is red and she looks absolutely furious. It frightens Alistair to look at her. Next to her, Wynne looks like somebody's disapproving grandmother.

“You didn't tell her about the brand,” Wynne scolds, her voice stern. Alistair flinches, expecting Tabris to shout at him. Instead, she leans in and kisses his cheek.

“My poor sweetheart, what a horrible thing to do to someone,” She says, her voice fierce with protective anger. Alistair pulls back to search her face.

“You aren't... angry?” He asks, disbelieving.

“With _you_? No. A bit miffed that you didn't tell me _before_ I hurt you, but mostly, I'm just wishing I'd stabbed a few more templars back at the circle,” Tabris mutters darkly. Next to her, Wynne sighs heavily.

“The ritual began with a noble purpose,” She defends, a bit halfheartedly. Tabris turns to her, frowning.

“I don't really give a shit. How do we _fix_ it?” Tabris demands.

Alistair, who had half expected this experience to have turned his would-be lover off entirely, feels a bit better about the whole ordeal as Tabris starts trying to convince Wynne to tell her the solution.

He feels outright giddy when her reaction to the fact that 'key' brands are usually given to templars' wives is--

“Is that seriously it? That's all we need? Because I'm fairly certain marriage was already in the cards. Err-- Right?”

The hesitation in her voice is charming, but the joy that statement brings up in Alistair's chest is overwhelming.

*

The best part of the Landsmeet, in Tabris' humble opinion, is Eamon's face when Alistair tells him the elven warden with the huge scar across her face and the terrible attitude is his _wife_.


End file.
